Fry me to the moon.

Sunday night I fried a chicken. I've always wanted to fry a chicken but it's a scary operation, dismembering a three pound bird, doing some magic with 11 herbs and spices and dumping it into a vat of boiling oil. Cool. The recipe I got calls for soaking the chicken in a sweet brine milk bath for four hours, doesn't that sound luxurious. You have to cut the bird up in quarters first (am I the only one who, when presented with a whole chicken must make it dance along the counter singing "Sledge! Sledge-hammer!" I thought so) and after the milk bath dredge the pieces in flour, dip in batter (buttermilk, eggs, paprika, hot sauce, baking soda, baking powder, black pepper), dredge in flour again, then into the oil, heathen! The sound and smell of things deep frying, it is so comforting and warm, it makes me believe God really exists and he loves each and every one of us.

I think the baking soda was the secret, the crust came out light and airy, almost effervescently crisp. Next time the milk bath gets less salt and more sugar, more paprika and hot sauce for the batter, maybe a touch of garlic and onion powder too. Mmmm mmm good.